


Four Miles

by misswatsonholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bisexual John, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Years, Teenlock, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:58:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misswatsonholmes/pseuds/misswatsonholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was all Mike’s fault, really. His girlfriend insisted on bringing John along after Mike said he would never be able to stand a posh New Years party on his own and maybe, just maybe, John would meet one of Alice’s cousins and they could all double date sometime. John meets a handsome and mysterious Sherlock Holmes instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Miles

John didn’t know why he’d agreed with all of that.

“It’s going to be fun, John, trust me.” Mike said for what could only be the hundredth time while insistently nudging John on the ribs. John wished he’d never left his house in the first place, and now, as they approached the big red house, wondered if there was any way he could go back on that.

It was all Mike’s fault, really. His girlfriend insisted on bringing John along only after Mike said he would never be able to stand a posh New Years party on his own, and maybe, just maybe, John would meet one of Alice’s cousins and they could all double date sometime.

Mike failed to say that all of Alice’s cousins already had boyfriends, very large ones, and the ones that were apparently alone were too young or old for John to try to start a conversation. So, when Alice wasn’t busy talking to her cousins, she was with Mike, and John was alone.

Not that John minded being alone, but sometimes, especially at those festivities, the last thing John wanted in the whole world was not to have anyone to talk to. His mind wandered and he always ended up thinking about his mother laying on the hospital bed. He thought of how the beeping sound of the machines scared the hell out of him whenever she breathed differently or tried to move. He thought of how he wasn’t there with her, holding her hands as she passed away, and how absurdly lonely and miserable he felt after she died.

After a complete disaster of a Christmas, John decided he should spend his New Year Eve in the company of his friends. It would be good, he would get distracted and for once life would be a little brighter again.

Except that now he was alone, sitting in a very comfortable leather chair, and had absolutely no idea of what to do or how to get someone to open a bottle of white wine for him.

John stood and walked straight to the dark wooden bar, and thought that if he waited there casually someone would notice him and go there. He wasn’t shy, but drinking by himself in a strangers house was probably not the good thing for him to do.

As John looked around, he couldn’t help but smile. The house seemed big from the outside – and it still was from the inside, with at least three floors – but it was also oddly rustic and comfortable. He felt embraced by the dark colours of the furniture and noticed the remaining of a very rich Christmas decoration. He wondered who lived there, how they were like and if he could spot them from the big crowd that had formed as the hours went by. He was completely focused on a crystal chandelier hanging above his head when a dark voice made him look down almost too fast for his own liking.

“I wouldn’t recommend you drinking any alcohol with your family’s history.” Said the dark haired man that stared at John firmly, and yet seemingly uninterested. John’s ears got pink and he gaped.

“How do you – I don’t know anyone here, how can you possibly know about my family?” John asked.

“You obviously know someone, as nice as mother is she wouldn’t just let someone crash into one of her New Year parties.”

Oh. So he was one of the hosts.

John’s gaze fell down to the man’s foot, staring at him from down there to the top of his hair. He had nice dark curls, and John wondered how someone so skinny could look so good in sand trousers and a pink-buttoned shirt.

“I- I know, uh, Alice.” John said after a while, reaching his hand up to stroke at the back of his neck. He felt embarrassed for checking the boy out, and didn’t know where else to look.

“You’re not her boyfriend, though.” The boy said, pointing aimlessly at the dark haired girl that clung to Mike’s arm as if she couldn’t live without it. “He brought you here as an anchor, but she is clingier than he thought and now you’re completely alone.”

John blinked.

“Yes.” He said, and cleaned his throat with a chuckle. “You, uh, still haven’t told me how you know about my family.”

The boy’s eyes widened briefly, before he mirrored John’s movements and ran a hand through his hair.

“You clearly have family issues, I’ve seen you glancing at your phone more than twice in the fifteen minutes you stood here by the bar. Not a girlfriend, otherwise you would be spending the New Years with her and frankly by the way you just checked me out, you’re clearly desperate to, as they say, get some. So, family. My house has a perfectly good signal, meaning you are definitely going to get the messages from whomever it is that you are waiting. Your phone was given to you by someone that had already used it, hence the careless marks on the sides. Someone that drinks a lot. I would say sister, but it’s more likely that your father or mother gave you for communication issues. Addiction is genetic, therefore, alcoholism.”

 By the time the boy finished, John felt completely out of breath. Not just because he got almost everything spot on, but also because he had mentioned John’s mother, even if briefly, even if wrongly, just the mention was enough to make John’s face paler than usual.

“I-” John tried, shaking his head as he now stared at the floor and pinched the brick of his nose.

At the sight of it, the other boy leant backwards, as if waiting for something bad to happen.

“I won’t drink, then.” Joh said, and looked at the boy with a small smile. “I can’t believe you read me so quickly like that. I thought I was at least a bit mysterious.”

The dark haired boy kept staring at John as if not understanding a word of what John said. Which was rather funny, because he was the one spilling out words a moment ago.

John couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s wrong?” John asked.

“I- That’s all you have to say?” The boy frowned, taking a small step towards John. “That you agree with me and won’t drink? People usually- They don’t-“

“Don’t like it when you just hit them with the deepest trues about themselves?” John scoffed, now leaning against the bar. “I’m not really fond of it either, but the way you did it was just amazing.” He chuckled again, a little shocked at how easy he was taking it. Maybe it was because the man was now as surprised as John was, or maybe it was just that he couldn’t stop looking at those blue eyes.

“Amazing? O-Okay.” The boy said, slowly, and turned around quickly. John frowned, trying to follow the dark curls with his eyes, but was lost in the small sea of people and grunted out of sheer frustration. Who was that boy and why did he seem so surprised that John didn’t just punch him in the face? Did he do all of that on purpose, to see how John would react to him or maybe push him away? Why would he do that to someone he didn’t even know?

With those questions making John’s head a little heavier than it was before, the blond turned around to try and find himself a can of soda.

* * *

They had managed to gather everyone from the party in one room, and as the countdown started all John could think of was how he missed his mum, how he wished his life was different right now, how he was lonely and, god, where was that stupidly handsome blue haired boy?

He glanced around, spotting the couples nestling together, and it was only after the bottles of champagne were bursting out and wetting John’s blond hair that he saw the boy in a corner, trying to get as little hugs as possible. John laughed as the boy literally turned around not to hug someone that might as well be one of his uncles.

Even though the boy had been the one to walk away and John knew he shouldn’t be talking to him, he walked forwards, feeling his heart drumming, and waved a hand in the most stupid way he could think of.

“Happy New Year?” John said, and pointed at the soda on his other hand. The boy’s eyes moved from John’s face to the can and he quirked his brows.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” He asked. “You said you weren’t going to drink alcohol, and there you are doing exactly as predicted.”

John chuckled, because at least the boy hadn’t turned around to leave him talking by himself.

“I’m John. Watson.” He blurted out. The boy simply blinked.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“You’re joking?” John chuckled.

“Would you rather me saying I have some bland name such as John? Or, well, William?” Sherlock asked impatiently, and John noticed how the man was nervously fiddling with his shirt.

“No, wait, no!” John exclaimed. He downed his soda and put the empty can down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Sherlock rather suits you, actually.”

“First you check me out, then you like how I just read you, now you say my weird name suits my weird personality. What exactly are you trying to get from me?” Sherlock asked, and although his tone was louder than expected, his eyes were wide and expectant. John, seeing that, bit his lip and looked away.

“I’m on my third year of medicine. Studying in London.” He said instead of giving any sort of reply. He wouldn’t do anything, wouldn’t risk himself like that without knowing there wasn’t a future, even if brief, with Sherlock.

The man apparently understood because he narrowed his eyes and nodded briefly.

“Chemistry. Imperial College.” Sherlock said, to John’s utter happiness.

“You must be bloody smart then, to go there.” John said.

“I thought we had established that the moment I told your entire family history.”

“Not entire.” John paused. He glanced around, looking for Mike. The man was snogging his girlfriend passionately close to a wall, much to John’s disgust – although he was a bit relieved – and John turned back to look at Sherlock. He waved a hand before walking away from the crowd and sitting on a comfortable sofa.

Taking the hint, Sherlock sat there as well.

“My mum died this year.” John said after a small awkward moment. “I hate every second I don’t have with her.” He frowned; he wasn’t expecting to just burst out and say things like that to someone he didn’t even know. He looked at Sherlock on his side, taking in the man’s concentrated expression with a small smile. “You don’t have to say anything, I don't want you to be sorry. I’m tired of people being sorry for me.”

Sherlock nodded, and was silent for a few minutes.

“My dog died.” He said, also staring away from John. “Three years ago.”

John mouthed a disappointed Oh, and shifted so he was sitting with his torso turned to Sherlock. He wanted to look at the man as they talked, which they did and for a long while. He didn’t know why they started with such a sad subject, but it turned out to be a good thing. Sherlock would tell him about funny little moments he had with Redbeard – his dog – and John would laugh and do an impression of his mum. He wanted to cry, because he’d never felt that good with anyone in such a long while. Sherlock was an avid listener, staring at John profoundly for as long as John talked, making his cheeks blush slightly, and he would respond to everything so passionately it only made John want to talk more and more.

It wasn’t surprising for John, the blond thought, that they would move closer and closer as the night progressed and the living room emptied from the New Year’s party. Their knees bumped as John laughed, and Sherlock bumped his fingers against John’s shoulder as he waved his hands like an excited child as he bragged about outsmarting not only his classmates but also his teacher at one of the classes he was taking.

When John’s forehead touched Sherlock’s shoulder and he giggled, he knew all hope was lost and he was already head over heels with the man. Not just a simple crush, because a crush was what he felt the first moment he saw the dark haired boy staring at him by the bar. Now that they talked and shared and it was obvious that Sherlock never really talked to anyone, John was completely struck and helpless.

He shifted his head and looked into Sherlock’s blue eyes.

“If I ever see this Sebastian man, I’ll personally tell him my rugby team would kick his arse.” He said, and smiled at the sound of Sherlock’s high laughter.

“He wouldn’t care about that. Your rugby team is halfway across town.”

“Not halfway, I study at Barts.” John said, shaking his head. “It’s like, four miles away from your building. Not that far away.” He smiled, and hoped Sherlock would please, please reciprocate what he felt for him.

“Four miles? Well, if I take a cab we can even have lunch together one day.” Sherlock said, and John stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the stupid idea because what if Sherlock actually meant that? Them, meeting in London, not just because they were stuck at a party together. It would be good, wouldn’t it?

“It’s a date, then.” John said, testing the waters. He watched Sherlock’s cheeks turning a pleasant tone of pink, and smiled widely as the boy stuttered. “Only if you want it to be. I’m fine with just friends.” He said quickly, and Sherlock shook his hand to stop John from talking any longer.

“No. I, yes. It would be nice to do that. Lunch. And date.” He said, and it was John’s turn to blush. He nodded and bit his lip.

John shifted close enough so that his knee was now fully rested on top of Sherlock's thigh. He was happy the man seemed unaffected by it. As the conversation quickly swift and Sherlock went on a full rant over vegans and honey, John couldn’t help but smile and thought of how on earth he would ever be able to thank Mike enough for bringing him to that party.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you like it.  
> It was unbetaed and it's 4am as I publish this. Forgive me for any mistakes, and feel free to point them out.  
> Happy 2015!


End file.
